


Magnum Opus

by PepperPrints



Series: Magnum Opus [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RE5 AU. Chris Redfield becomes the first successful host of Uroboros, and the cure can only come from Albert Wesker -- if the man can be coerced to give up his magnum opus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Own World

**Author's Note:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: our own world. A previous work of mine _Paper Trail_ is the prologue to this, so a lot of this won't make sense without reading that first.
> 
> This story is already complete (edits aside) and will have a posting schedule of Thursdays and Mondays. I wanted to have something to update while I am otherwise occupied with NaNoWriMo, instead of just disappearing for a month. This series is kind of an experiment, and I took a lot of liberties, and hope I succeeded? I'll see how you folks feel.

The matter of Chris Redfield's persisting existence was often enough to give Wesker pause if he reflected on it in too great of detail. It was not a deliberate intention, and it was not as if the man was overtly skilled. When he had been in STARS, Wesker considered Chris to be one of his best men – but he was only human. There was no reason for him to survive.

 

Perhaps that meant he had proved himself worthy of evolution.

 

The thought had been on his mind since he had retrieved the research on Project Wesker. He had debated destroying it all immediately, as he had done with Spencer himself, but a rare sense of curiosity pulled at him. It had been so very long ago, but the memories were buried too deeply for it to have been a natural regression.

 

Chris said he heard about Alex and Felicia, names that Wesker had known from the files, but never attached with any particular sentiment until he was given reason to think about what might have been recorded. He had played those tapes himself, and once he heard the events retold aloud, he could vividly remember the sound Alex made when his fingers snapped. It had been a short lived stage of aggression, one that had been bred out of him in the same way Spencer programmed him towards affection for his 'father'. He had destroyed _that_ tape when Chris tried to play it, but there were others like it with more conditioning where Spencer made requests, pressuring, and the slightest hesitation was swiftly punished.

 

Then there had been Felicia.

 

The only attachment that Spencer had allowed was for the children to honor their 'father', and anything else was dealt away with swiftly. However, Wesker did not recall any particular disappointment when he had been ordered away from Felicia. He already felt disinclined, and it was not because he expected the reprimand that came. It was a natural sort of disinterest, and his curiosity was enough to make him search beyond it, but even after he indulged the idea, he remained incredibly underwhelmed.

 

Wesker had spent the last few days listening to tapes of old memories, and now he watched live video of something very new.

 

A matter of sheer strength made it impossible for Chris to fight Wesker in the ruins, and it was petty emotion that made it impossible for him to fight Jill Valentine. The look on the man's face when he saw his partner revealed to him had been something incredibly satisfying. Chris and his new companion were defeated, and yet again, Wesker took another option rather than the man's long overdue demise: Chris was captured, and his new partner escaped at Chris's command.

 

Wesker was unconcerned with the latter; one woman could only achieve so much.

 

The cell which he had confined Chris in was recorded with both audio and visual, and Wesker watched from the control room. He had come here for another purpose, overseeing far more important things than Chris's rude awakening, but he always found his gaze drawn back to those particular screens.

 

Chris was putting up quite a fuss now that he had regained consciousness. He rammed himself against the bars repeatedly, despite how they remained unyielding, and his mouth worked in furious yells. Curiosity fueling him, Wesker slid his fingers to the keys, clicking on the audio feed from the prison block.

 

“--me out, Goddamnit!” Chris was shouting. “Son of a bitch!”

 

It was rather uninspired, to be honest, and yet Wesker found himself compelled. His fingers slipped over to the microphone's controls and he flicked it on.

 

“That won't do you any good,” he announced, and the way Chris jumped at the sound was incredibly rewarding.

 

“Wesker, where are you?” snapped Chris, and it was a little too amusing to watch Chris turn his head a bit frantically until he found the camera, then he focused his stare there. “Where's Jill?”

 

“She's undergoing some treatment,” responded Wesker casually, and there was a video feed for that too, as a matter of fact. He turned his gaze towards the screen idly, to find her still fighting for control. “It seems your presence has caused her to regress.”

 

That sparked quite the reaction, the usual heroics and promises of what would happen should she be harmed. It bothered Wesker very little in the end. “Get down here!” he demanded.

 

Wesker made a thoughtful sound at that. “I'd rather not,” he said simply. There was a particular delight in addressing Chris like this instead; it did appeal to his complexes.

 

At the very least, Chris had stopped bashing himself into walls. He rubbed at his shoulder idly, indicating that he was paying for it. “You'd do that so easily?” he snapped, and Wesker found he quite liked how Chris looked up to yell at him – very Godlike. “You'd hurt her like that, after what Spencer did to you?”

 

Wesker paused, his lips thinning, and he knew that would come around; he couldn't expect Chris to not explore his little discoveries from the Spencer Estate. “I'm offended,” he drawled. “The two can hardly compare.”

 

“Do you know that?” asked Chris coldly. “How much do you even remember, Wesker?”

 

Not enough, perhaps, was the correct response. When there was an accompanying file or tape, Wesker could recall the events involved easily, but it did not illuminate anything in between. He had not drawn up a single memory on his own without prompting. There were years in between which he was missing entirely. He did not, however, allow himself to be alarmed by it.

 

“I don't believe that's any of your concern,” replied Wesker smoothly. “It seems you are under the misguided impression that I suffer from those experiences.”

 

That actually made Chris scoff, a gloved hand sweeping across his cheek. “So what? You think after all that you benefited?”

 

Wesker leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the armrests as he touched his fingertips together. He watched the screens with hooded eyes as Chris now paced around his cell, likely looking for some weakness to exploit. He would find no such thing. “It did erase several of the unsavory side effects of humanity early on,” he said, “as you heard.”

 

He did, of course, check the tapes that Chris had confessed to listening to that night. They were records of very minor offenses, and as a matter of fact, now he was almost pleased that Chris had heard them. He might understand the reality of what he was fighting a little more clearly now.

 

Chris was turned away from Wesker, still searching for his escape, but Wesker could hear him just as clearly. “Unsavory? You mean like being an upset child?” Chris asked. “You mean Felicia?”

 

Wesker did not rise to the obvious goading. “Anger is not without its uses, when it is not for petty causes,” countered Wesker calmly. Even now, he believed that Alex had certainly deserved what he had been given. “And as you'd recall, in regards to the latter, it had long been a matter of indifference before that even started. I had already far surpassed that stage.”

 

That made Chris laugh, and something about it wasn't quite the same as the dismissive scoffing from before. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”

 

“Do you doubt me?” asked Wesker, honestly curious.

 

“You could say that,” responded Chris, rising back up and dusting himself off. “I think you're giving yourself too much credit. Most people just call that something else.”

 

Wesker tipped his head, peering at the screens from over the rim of his glasses. “And what would that be?” he asked, indulging Chris for the moment.

 

Chris snorted and shook his head. “Forget it,” said Chris, waving his hand.

 

“No, do go on.”

 

Chris actually laughed, and Wesker narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you just aren't interested in women.”

 

Wesker paused, his eyes widening a fraction, but the expression vanished quickly. “That is a very juvenile jibe, Chris,” he said, the disappointment obvious in his tone. “Really, I expected more.”

 

“A joke, yeah,” he muttered. Chris was digging through the cell again, for all the good it would do him. Wesker watched him, and his mind wandered. Perhaps...

 

When Felicia had invited him to kiss her, and he had known from the beginning that it would give him very little joy, but yet he obliged because of curiosity. He never felt the urge, no envy of another couple's intimacy nor any want of it himself, and this was long before Spencer chose to breed such ideas out of his mind. He understood the matter well enough, but he simply did not feel the desire.

 

Felicia had kissed him many times, and there was nothing. Excella had slipped her hands boldly across his shoulders, down his stomach, and he remained unmoved. Excella thought herself to be his partner, expecting to be a queen when this was over – not realizing the man she was not with would be a _king_. Wesker intended to be a God, without equal, and while she was useful, he had no uses for her once the plan complete. Uroboros could reject her or not; he didn't quite care either way.

 

Chris, however... Wesker could not deny how he believed Chris to be worthy, how he expected it, and perhaps even hoped for it.

 

His trail of thought was cut short when Chris grew loud again. Chris had carried on his search for several moments, before frustration fueled him into slamming his booted foot against the bars. “Goddamnit. What are you waiting for?”

 

Wesker wondered when that question would come around. “I thought, perhaps, that it would be appropriate to give you a proper view of the new world, as Uroboros is unleashed,” he replied, settling back in his chair comfortably. “After so much history between us, Chris, it would be anticlimactic to kill you so quickly.”

 

Scoffing again, Chris paced around his cell. “You really are a comic book villain,” he snapped. “You could kill me – you always could!” Chris kicked out again, vibration thrumming up the bars, but his leg would break sooner than the metal.

 

That fact had been on his mind as well. It had perhaps had been amusing to allow Chris to continue to exist, like how a predator toyed with prey, but it continued to an extent beyond simple entertainment. When he found Chris with the research from Spencer's estate, he should have killed him where he was – he could have killed him now – yet, for some reason he could not entirely place, he held back. He merely felt inspired towards letting him be, and truthfully Wesker himself did not understand it.

 

Wesker was not ignorant, and he did not delude himself. There was something particular about Chris which made him hesitate, and while the conclusion to that seemed obvious, he never imagined himself to be so weak. Wesker had been molded to consider those petty ideals beneath him, and to expect such things to turn around upon him immediately, but he had not exactly suffered for this inclination just yet. True, Chris did put a wrench in his plans, but he only delayed the inevitable. This was not the same weakness he had been warned about.

 

If that was the case, why not indulge it? What was one small crack in the armor of a God? Nothing. Why wouldn't Chris be worthy? He had admired Chris's skill from the very start, and Chris did continue to surprise him even now, even if he was only human – for the moment, that was.

 

“You never know,” mused Wesker idly and he leaned forward, speaking very close to the microphone. His fingers slipped across the base as he murmured softly against it. “Perhaps Uroboros will consider you worthy of evolution.”

 

It was quite the compliment in reality, but Chris hardly seemed swayed. “Yeah, give me enough power so I can really kick your ass,” muttered Chris, showing that exact stubborn determination which was so compelling. “Sorry, but your new world sounds like shit to me.”

 

Wesker couldn't say he was surprised. “Or,” Wesker began quietly – boldly – and his lips brushed across the microphone, almost like a kiss. It was sheer impulse that drew him to do it and to speak such things, like before when he had rubbed blood across Chris's mouth and confessed to far too much. “It could just be you and I.”

 

There it was: he had laid himself open and it felt _good_ – thrilling in a way he never had experienced. That was what he had been looking for, and never quite knew how to achieve.

 

But then Chris laughed, and Wesker went very still.

 

“You're crazier than I thought,” said Chris, causing him to tense even further. He glared down at the screens, ready to retort, but then Chris continued speaking.

 

“And I was wrong.”

 

Clenching his hands, Wesker forced himself to remain where he was. “About what?” he asked, and he had an inkling of what Chris might say: he could retract the claims he had made when Wesker took the tapes from him, the accusations of heartlessness and his lack of love – as childish as it was to mourn such a thing.

 

Chris took his time, and Wesker found his patience thinning very quickly. Chris settled down on the floor of his cell, his back pressed against the wall. “You,” he said. “You're even more pathetic than I thought you were.”

 

Wesker clenched his jaw. That had been the exact thing Spencer had warned about, finally coming around to punish him the moment he dared to extend his reach. It seemed the deranged old man was not entirely without his lessons.

 

“Perhaps,” he said, and rose to his feet, refusing to linger here any longer. “But you may not live to see the dawn.”


	2. Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: violence; pillage/plunder; extortion.
> 
> Action sequences are the death of me.

 Chris couldn't find a way out of this cell.

 

Brute strength alone wasn't going to help, and there was nothing else he could exploit – he had exhausted himself looking for a weak point. He was stuck here; powerless. Jill had been captured, and Sheva too – or so he guessed. Sheva might have been able to fight her way out, which was a bit too optimistic to think, but Chris would cling to that hope rather than think Sheva had become an experiment as well. He had to believe someone would come looking for him.

 

When someone finally did show up, it was not who he hoped.

 

“Finally tired of hiding?” Chris asked, and the figure before him smiled.

 

“Chris,” greeted Wesker, ignoring the jibe, he had a briefcase in hand, which he set on the floor next to him. “It took some careful consideration, but I have finally decided on your fate.”

 

Chris felt his lips twitch. Wesker was, at best, a comic book villain. There were so many easy ways that Wesker could have killed him, but every time they came across each other, he never did, and not for any good reason.

 

Well, no, that wasn't true. Chris knew better than that now, there _was_ a reason, but that didn't mean he liked it.

 

“I guess just shooting me in the head won't do,” said Chris flatly, which seemed to amuse Wesker well enough.

 

“There's quite the amusing story to this, actually,” replied Wesker, idly adjusting one of his gloves as he spoke. “Uroboros was only made possible because of your partner, didn't you know?”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes. “What?” he said, voice low, and Wesker's smile spread.

 

“Jill was infected in Raccoon City,” continued Wesker, and he bent down to open his case. “While she believed herself to be cured, the virus remained dormant in her system. When the virus was finally purged, it left behind a certain antibody – and with that, Uroboros could be manufactured into a state without any deadly toxicity.”

 

From the briefcase, Wesker pulled out was a small vial, and he held it between his thumb and forefinger for Chris to see. “How ironic,” he drawled. “That Jill Valentine would be the one to make Uroboros a possibility, and that Chris Redfield would be its first successful host.”

 

Chris felt his body stiffen and he stood his ground. “That's all theory,” he countered. “You don't know if it will bond with me or not.”

 

Pacing closer, Wesker made a thoughtful sound. “True enough,” he replied. “But either result will suffice now.” Wesker smirked and with a sharp turn of his wrist, he threw the vial between the bars of Chris's cell.

 

Chris jerked back as the vial fell to the floor and shattered, the liquid turning into gas and hissing like it was toxic. Chris clasped his hand over his mouth, trying not to breathe it in, but he was too late. He could feel it burning in his throat, stinging his eyelids. Stumbled in step, the tried to look at Wesker, but his vision swarmed and spun.

 

“What did you-- do?” he snapped, voice choked.

 

Chris fell to his knees, choking and coughing. He could feel it dig down his throat and into his lungs, burning and stinging. His vision was a blurred mess, and he was shaking. He wanted to speak, but the only noises he could make were strangled cries of pain. He dropped forward, thrashing on the floor, and he retched like he would vomit, but nothing came up. It felt like his body was trying to cough up his entire insides – which were squirming and twisting up, as if his stomach was full of worms. He was blacking out; he was dying, and the last thing he'd hear would be Wesker's voice.

 

“Remarkable, isn't it?”

 

–

 

Chris jumped up like waking from a nightmare – if only it had been that. He jerked his head around, finding himself strapped down to a table in a room that was sterile white. His vision spun, his head throbbing, and he clenched his eyes shut with a hiss of pain.

 

The sound was enough to make his consciousness known. “So you're awake.” Wesker's voice was unmistakable, and Chris blinked several times as his eyes opened again, slow to focus. He could hear Wesker's footfalls approaching until he stood beside the table. “Chris, you always make me proud. You really are a survivor.”

 

Realization came quickly: Uroboros. He jerked against his restraints, and his heartbeat jumped. What happened? Where was he? _What_ was he?

 

“You had me worried when you collapsed,” continued Wesker, “but now your vital signs are steady. It appears you are an ideal host after all.”

 

No. Chris went tense, and his eyes widened – his eyes. What color were his eyes?

 

Wesker smirked and he leaned down. He sighed, speaking quietly and intimately close against Chris's lips, as if passing a secret. “You are the first worthy candidate on the eve of humanity's evolution.”

 

Chris felt fury so intense that it was dizzying. Wesker lifted a gloved hand, the back of two fingers stroking across Chris's cheek as he brushed their lips together. “Worthy of me,” he whispered, voice soft in a way Chris had never heard before.

 

He would kill him.

 

The reaction wasn't even conscious; his body had changed and he could not control it. He lashed out and the restraints broke like they were made of paper. His fist hit Wesker square in the jaw, and the force of it actually sent him stumbling back. The sunglasses fell with the strike, letting Chris see just how much Wesker's eyes widened in response. Good. Satisfaction curled hot and sickly in his gut, and he jerked his other hand free, climbing off the table and to his feet.

 

“I told you,” he said, his voice unsteady and near rasping. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, making it hard to think. “That if you did this to me, I would kick your ass.”

 

When Wesker moved, Chris was fast enough to follow him. It was pure instinct that fueled him; his body was different and he didn't know how use it, making him clumsy. He overshot when he tried to chase, and Wesker struck him hard in the chest, sending him falling back.

 

Chris dodged when Wesker came for him, his heartbeat pounding and his mind hazy. He was having trouble even thinking clearly now, with the virus pushing at his senses. It wanted to go further; it wanted to make Wesker bleed – and he got it. He struck Wesker across his face, and his vision seemed to blur when Wesker spat up blood. That pause was costly, since Wesker took the opportunity to hit back. Chris landed on his chest as he was thrown, knowing a blow like that should have winded him, but there was nothing; he got back up again with only the slightest struggle.

 

He was so much stronger -- this was the power of Uroboros...

 

“You fool,” hissed Wesker, stalking after him. “Do you really think you can compete with me?”

 

“What, did you think once you got your new world, everyone you infected would just kneel at your feet?” Chris snapped as he whipped around. “Did you really think you'd just be accepted as a God?”

 

Vanishing when Chris lashed out, Wesker sneered. “I could never expect you to understand.”

 

He was playing with fire, and Chris knew it, but his mouth kept moving. “But you wanted me to, right?” he asked angrily. “That's what all this is about!”

 

That hit a nerve. Chris didn't even see Wesker until he was already caught. Slamming Chris back against the wall, Wesker closed his hand against his throat – the memory struck hard, the threat still feeling very real, but it wasn't the same now; he was stronger.

 

Even if Chris wasn't conscious of his abilities, the virus reacted the moment his oxygen was cut off. His hands were clenched on Wesker's forearm, trying to pry him off, but even with his newfound strength, Wesker was more powerful.

 

Until Uroboros came out.

 

It broke from arm, tendrils bursting out of his skin, and Chris would have cried out in pain had he any breath to do so – but Wesker made enough noise for him. Uroboros spread from Chris's arm to Wesker's, swarming and trying to bury into his flesh. The snarl of pain was more satisfying than Chris expected. Wesker jerked back, throwing Chris from him, but even when Chris fell away, Uroboros clung on, writhing across Wesker's body.

 

Chris could not even concern himself with Wesker now. He clutched at his own arm, watching in fascinated horror as the tendrils curled and twisted, slowly receding back into his body. The wound closed up as if nothing had been there at all, leaving him short of breath and more afraid than he had been for a long time.

 

Chris looked up to find Wesker still struggling. His entire arm had been constricted by Uroboros, hanging stiffly at his side, and his free hand tried to wrench the pieces off as they crept up towards his throat.

 

“Get – off of me,” he was snapping, but even the pieces he did throw to the floor kept consciousness, and twisted tight around his feet instead.

 

No, the mass didn't have a consciousness of its own; it was part of Chris.

 

That wouldn't be enough to hold Wesker; he needed more, or Wesker would break free and then he would unleash this sickness on the entire globe. People would die, or embody this same horror that Chris did. Chris stared at his arm, and his heart seemed ready to burst from his chest. _Come back, I need more, come back and do something damn it_ \--

 

“Chris!” snarled Wesker. He was slowed down but not immobile, and he was coming for him. “How _dare_ you--”

 

Stumbling up to his feet, Chris charged forward and slammed his fist into Wesker's gut. Uroboros broke out again, that same agony coming as it ripped from him, and Chris gave a yell of pain as Wesker did the same.

 

“Stay down, Goddamnit!” Chris shouted, and Uroboros made sure that he did. It crawled over Wesker's body, curling tight and binding him. It was enough – it had to be enough.

 

Chris stumbled back as Wesker fell to his knees. He lashed out, hitting Wesker until he finally fell to the ground and didn't try to rise again. His arms shook, the impact shuddering up to his shoulder, and he didn't trust himself to stop because Wesker might get up again – but worse than that, the thing inside him didn't want to stop.

 

Chris forced himself to still, keeping Wesker pinned beneath him, and his breathless voice snarled down at him. “Where's the antidote?” he demanded. “Give me a cure now and maybe I won't snap your neck.”

 

Cruel, cold laughter spilled from Wesker's lips, the noise creeping up his spine, and Chris realized what Wesker would say before he even opened his mouth.

 

“Uroboros _is_ a cure,” he said, struggling but still held prone by Uroboros' living bonds. “To the disease of humanity. There is nothing else to it. Why would I create a cure to what is already a solution?”

 

Chris went very still, and he realized he was trapped.

 

There was no going back for him in this condition. He was infected; he'd be quarantined at best, killed at the worst. Chris clenched his jaw, lowering his head again, his thoughts rushing. Wesker had created Uroboros for one purpose, so of course he'd never think of a way to reverse it – but he could do it, if he wanted to do it; if he could be convinced.

 

“Did you intend to kill me with my own creation?” Wesker asked, voice low. “That would be a bitter end, don't you think?”

 

Chris scowled. “What makes you think I'm going to kill you?” he asked. Slowly, Uroboros began to release its hold on Wesker, and it wasn't entirely conscious; Chris was just so damn exhausted, his entire body going slack, and Uroboros was an extension of that. “You're my only way out of this.”

 

Chris bent down, grabbing Wesker by the arm and pulling. “So get up. We're going.”


	3. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: red.

 Wesker was always prepared, and while he had not braced for a situation quite like this, he had a back-up plan that suited well enough. There was a small, private laboratory that was known only to himself, for times of emergency, and that was where he took Chris now. It was a rather unfortunate situation, one which Wesker was not particularly inclined to oblige, but Chris did have him at a disadvantage.

 

As they fled the facility, Chris's companions showed their faces one last time. Chris's new partner had freed his old one, and the two of them had raised Wesker's dedicated work to the ground. There had been a struggle, one where both women wanted Chris to come with them, but all three knew it was impossible – they recognized that the moment they saw the color of Chris's eyes. The whole reunion was bitterly satisfying, although pointless in the end, but it had left Chris with one small trump card.

 

Jill threw down a case which Wesker recognized all too well. With what was inside of it, Chris now had Wesker's hands securely tied: his injections. Chris guarded them like a dog, using them as threat and leverage. Wesker could not survive without them, and Chris – as he told it – could not survive without purging Uroboros, and so they 'helped' each other.

 

Wesker would have preferred to have had at least another sample of Uroboros to test with, however, Chris's partners saw that nothing else survived. The frustration was infuriating, especially after coming so close, but not everything was lost; he did have Chris.

 

Chris, who was stubborn and watched him like a hawk. Chris, who had unimaginable power and wanted to return to dismal mortality. Chris, who now had eyes which were the most enticing shade of red.

 

Wesker had much time to reflect on his admitted... inclinations towards Chris. It was likely what made him so pliant to this situation to begin with. While Chris had the injections and the strength to fight him, he was still a newborn at best. He had the power, but none of the skill to command it, not like Wesker did with his own abilities. Now that Wesker knew what to expect, he could have bested Chris if he tried to fight, but he did not.

 

Instead, he worked and Chris watched him. There wasn't much space in this lab, given that it was a location that was strictly for emergency, and even that considered, Chris hovered incredibly close. Wesker sensed a lack of trust. Chris had no scientific mind, as far as Wesker understood, so he was placing a great deal of faith in Wesker.

 

Wesker supposed that Chris considered that his only option.

 

Lately, much of Chris's time was spent preoccupied with looking at his arm – the one that had transformed when he and Wesker fought. He was settled on the floor, for lack of chairs in this facility, and he held the case tucked under one arm, while the other arm was intensely scrutinized.

 

For a time, it seemed to just be idle study, but now Chris was growing obviously frustrated about it, and it only took a moment for Wesker to see why: he was trying to replicate the incident.

 

It was little wonder that he couldn't. The infection was still fresh, and it likely hadn't even finished the bonding process completely (and when it was finished, that would make it far more difficult to cure, so Wesker may have been delaying himself on purpose for that very reason). Chris couldn't be expected to have control just yet.

 

“I wonder,” announced Wesker, breaking the silence that had hung over the room. “Why you are so determined to unleash Uroboros again, if you want it out of your body?”

 

Chris scowled over at him, and Wesker wondered if he wouldn't just demand that he shut up and keep working. “So I know how to beat you down if you try something,” he said coldly.

 

Fair enough. Wesker made a small sound, not pausing in his work. He was distracted, however, when Chris became vocally displeased with his lack of success.

 

“Come out, Goddamnit,” Chris cursed lowly, and he slammed his fist against the floor, as if that would inspire a reaction. To no surprise, it didn't, and Wesker felt his lips twitch.

 

Wesker could not recall having any similar frustrations. The virus in himself had evolved quite naturally. His agility was increased, and he grew faster in every passing year, as did his physical strength. Wesker hadn't known what he was capable of when he had been infected, and neither did Chris. He wondered how much that frightened him.

 

“If I may make a suggestion,” he invited, turning away from his research, and Chris scowled at him with those brilliantly red eyes of his. “You may be thinking in the wrong terms.”

 

Chris kept his glare, still silent, and Wesker came forward. Chris was a very stubborn man, so Wesker doubted his mind worked quite this way. “When you punch, do you think it through or do you simply act?” he inquired easily. “Do you tell your arm to tense, and ask each finger to curl?”

 

“Sounds like you're asking me to hit you,” muttered Chris sourly, making a fist on the instinct of it. Wesker smirked, brushing his coat back somewhat as he knelt down next to him.

 

“It is the same principle with Uroboros,” he continued as if there was no interruption. Lifting his hand up to remove his sunglasses, he set them on the floor next to Chris. “Do you think to yourself 'pick it up' and wait for your arm to respond, or do you simply... act? Uroboros is extension of yourself; nothing different than an extra limb. Stop asking it and command it instead. Stop thinking and simply act.”

 

Chris met his gaze, and Wesker held it. He wasn't glaring now, not quite, but there was anger in his eyes all the same. Chris's eyes weren't quite the same shade that Wesker knew his own to be; the shade was a certain rich sort of crimson which was hard to look away from.

 

“Is there a reason you're giving me lessons on how to beat you?” Chris asked, voice laced with heavy suspicion, but Wesker thought the answer was obvious.

 

“You are all that remains of Uroboros,” replied Wesker. “It would be a waste to not witness your full potential.”

 

Wesker only realized now that he had come quite close when he knelt down next to Chris. It wasn't on purpose to be so near to him, but he was glad for it now. Chris parted his lips for his next breath, and it looked like an invitation.

 

Stop thinking and simply--

 

“That's not going to happen.”

 

Whether Chris meant Uroboros, or the idea of a kiss that had been passing through Wesker's mind, he could not tell, but Chris was drawing away all the same. Case in hand, he rose up to his feet. “You need an injection, right?” Perhaps it was a diversion from how close they had become, but it was indeed that time already.

 

Wesker relented, standing up to shrug out of his jacket. He drew back towards his seat by the computer, settling down and pulling his sleeve up in obvious invitation. “I'm surprised you noticed,” he observed, causing Chris to frown again.

 

“I pay attention,” he said simply, opening the case. The dose had to be precise, and Chris seemed to have gotten the hang of it. Wesker didn't think Chris would compromise him when he was the only one who could offer him a cure.

 

His attempts to create one were yielding nothing and Wesker was not admittedly trying his hardest to surpass that. Chris had leverage against him, certainly, but Wesker did not think he could bring himself to purge Uroboros. Chris was the only remaining part of it, and he had bonded with it so seamlessly. Uroboros had been his vision, and this was all that was left.

 

Who better to carry it than Chris? Uroboros was the only way another human being could hope to be on a level that could even compete with Wesker – the only way he would have an equal. It might have even been better this way: not infecting the world, but just Chris and himself. That sounded... quite nice, actually, almost enough to make up for his failure.

 

The needle pierced his flesh, and Wesker could barely even feel it. It was dealt with quickly, such a small thing as it was, but it was incredibly important to his survival. That done, Chris placed the syringe back into the case and Wesker fixed his clothing.

 

“What would you do, I wonder,” mused Wesker, pulling on his jacket again. “If I told you Uroboros was incurable?”

 

“I'd tell you to get back to work,” said Chris bluntly, shutting at the case again and keeping it tight in his hand. It was his trump card, so his protectiveness was understandable.

 

Wesker smirked, and he straightened up. “You are placing a great amount of trust in me,” he said. “More than you trust your own government.”

 

Chris was already parting from him. “I'm not in the mood,” he said bluntly. “Go back to work.”

 

Wesker did not press the subject. He let Chris go back to where he was before, sitting down on the floor where Wesker had left his sunglasses. Wesker went back to the computer, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Chris pick the glasses up and set them back down again.

 

Chris wasn't staring at his arm like he had been before; he stared at the sunglasses, apparently trying to will Uroboros into picking them up instead.

 

Seconds passed with no reaction, and Wesker smiled, not looking away from the computer screen. “I can hear you thinking too hard about it,” he remarked. It was hard to tell with his eyes fixed forward, but Chris was likely glaring at him again. Wesker didn't bother indulging the offense, continuing to run through the next series of tests, his fingers actively typing.

 

What he heard next, however, was a sharp gasp and the sound of shattering glass.

 

Wesker turned his head, finding that Chris had indeed succeeded in calling upon Uroboros, but he hadn't quite managed the concept of restraint. Uroboros had not so much 'picked up' as crashed down on Wesker's sunglasses, and when Chris winced with pain and shock, it immediately receded. Chris reached out with very human fingers and nudged at the shattered mess of Wesker's sunglasses.

 

That would be a problem, since Wesker hadn't exactly brought another pair with him.

 

“Damn it,” muttered Chris, but it was an improvement.

 

For the purposes Chris intended, which were to beat Wesker into submission should there be a conflict, he supposed the exercise was a success. Chris certainly didn't want to handle Wesker gently – however, he wouldn't want to kill him due to a lack of control. Luckily for Chris, Wesker was rather durable.

 

“Don't be so shocked when you succeed,” suggested Wesker calmly, sparing him a glance. “You'll lose your concentration. Think of it as being perfectly natural.”

 

That was answered with a scoff. “This isn't natural,” muttered Chris sourly.

 

“It is for you,” countered Wesker. “Uroboros is a part of you now.”

 

“Well I don't want it to be,” said Chris, whipping around to narrow those crimson eyes at him. “So keep working on that.”

 

Wesker had a much better use for his time than that. He pushed his chair back, rising to his feet and pacing back to Chris. “Tell me, Chris,” he said. “You want me to purge Uroboros, but what will happen if I decide to fight after I succeed? I create the cure, return you to a mere human, and then you are utterly at my mercy.”

 

“It's not going to happen like that,” said Chris firmly, rubbing his hand up and down his arm. Wesker watched the motion idly, thoughtful.

 

“As I recall,” he began, “it was the threat of your imminent demise which summoned Uroboros the first time.”

 

Chris looked ready to reply, but Wesker did not give him the opportunity. Uroboros came out before when Chris felt bested, his body reacting in self defense, and that would be the ideal method to bring it out again.

 

He struck Chris in his chest, sending him stumbling back – winded – and Wesker did not give him a chance to recover. Throwing Chris back, he pinned him to the nearest wall, and it was almost too easy.

 

“Come now,” chided Wesker, his hand tightening on Chris's throat. “Try harder. This is only playing.”

 

“I'm not – trying in the first place,” managed Chris, jerking his head as Wesker held his neck. “I'm not going to play this game with you; it's not going to work. You never really tried to kill me before, and won't kill me now – not when I'm all that's left of Uroboros.”

 

“Confident,” observed Wesker, and also clever. However... Wesker tilted his head, making a thoughtful noise. “But perhaps I don't need you in danger... perhaps I only need you angry.”

 

Chris looked shocked for the split second before Wesker leaned in and pressed their lips together. The contact was soft, light, and Wesker brushed his tongue across sealed lips. Chris tasted earthy and pleasant, but Wesker wasn't given much time to appreciate that when he was very swiftly bitten.

 

“Son of a bitch!” spat Chris, bashing their foreheads together. The gesture was dizzying for them both, but offered Chris the window to shove Wesker back – for all the good it did him.

 

Wesker tongued the wound on his lips, feeling blood, and he chuckled softly. “Still not enough,” he said, easily grabbing Chris by the front of his shirt and dragging him close. He kissed Chris again, quick and chaste, before he threw him to the ground. Adrenaline hummed through his body, pleasant and exciting, and he felt a very unfamiliar thrill. He had _wanted_ this.

 

Chris tried to lunge for him, and Wesker easily slipped back out of range. He kept at it this way, letting Chris chase him as he ducked and dodged. The only retaliations he made were light and chastising, shoving Chris just enough to upset his balance – just enough to upset _him_.

 

“Stay – still,” snapped Chris, his temper getting ahead of him. While he had refused before, he was definitely playing the game now. Wesker knew it wouldn't take much.

 

“I wonder, Chris,” began Wesker, thoughtful and unconcerned by Chris's attempts to attack. “Why did you listen to those tapes? It would not have helped your cause. It would not have brought back Jill. The ghosts of my childhood gave you nothing except more of me.”

 

Chris charged him and Wesker vanished like smoke. “You were right, as well,” he offered, and if he wasn't mistaken, Chris stumbled at hearing that. “I could not remember those instances until I heard the tapes, but you were also wrong: I am not uninterested in women.” Wesker smiled to himself. “I am uninterested in everyone, except for you.”

 

The confession was likely more than he should have spoken aloud, but Chris had figured out that much already; it was not any great sacrifice. “Uroboros ended up better than I hoped,” decided Wesker, and came close, brushing his fingers across Chris's jaw. “You are the only worthy candidate that I require.”

 

That had done it. When Chris whipped around, he was fast enough to catch Wesker's arm, and it was not just his hand which restrained him. Uroboros broke out, swarming across him, and Chris was even more startled than Wesker by the assault. The force of the blow shoved Wesker back, and Chris fell with him, bracing himself above Wesker as he hit the floor. Chris's eyes were wide, and they were full of fury, but Wesker was still smiling.

 

Red eyes mirroring his own...

 

“How can I cure perfection?” asked Wesker, not even struggling against Uroboros now; he wanted to feel its strength. He lay back beneath Chris, accepting and almost near submissive.

 

“You're crazy,” muttered Chris, and they were close enough that Wesker could feel the warmth of his breath against his lips. “Nothing else to it.”

 

Wesker smiled, and he leaned up to Chris as much as he could, but the grip of Uroboros covering his body prevented him from sealing the gap. “Kiss me,” he coaxed quietly.

 

Chris narrowed his eyes, scowling, and he bent his head, coming almost close enough to convince Wesker that he'd oblige – but then he hissed against Wesker's mouth instead.

 

“Go to hell.”

 

Uroboros withdrew and so did Chris, stalking away in search of some vague privacy of the laboratory. Wesker sighed and he touched his lips; the wound had already healed, but he could still taste the blood.


	4. Cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: cradle.

 Chris had been having trouble sleeping.

 

The issue mostly came from how he didn't really need to sleep that much at all anymore. It was hard to notice at first, given his obvious distraction, but he recognized it now. Hours past before he realized how little he was actually tiring, and how he had absolutely lost all sense of appetite. While either one had advantages, Chris stubbornly fought against both. He didn't want to become this... thing, whatever Uroboros was, and that meant still behaving like a normal human being would.

 

Except he couldn't. When he did sleep, it wasn't well. It just made him all the more aware of how inhuman he was becoming, and how alone he was.

 

The former became even more obvious when he woke up wrapped in Uroboros.

 

Chris didn't know what it was that finally alerted him, but the moment he realized, he was wide awake. He jerked upright with a shout, grabbing at the now retreating tendrils. They vanished quickly under his seeking hands, but Chris knew what he felt and what he saw: Uroboros had been smothering him, consuming him. It was a wonder that he hadn't been strangled.

 

Chris was panting, his unsteady hand laying against his throat. A thought rose up suddenly: Wesker's virus hadn't truly become active until he died. How different was Wesker's virus from his own? Was Uroboros trying to kill Chris, so he would be its puppet, rather than actively resisting its will? He had been putting out so much effort to fight Uroboros... maybe it finally got sick of the struggle.

 

He didn't think Uroboros was sentient – Wesker never said it was.

 

Wesker... why the hell would he have trusted Wesker?

 

Chris at least tried to sleep, but Wesker did no such thing. He would be awake, working like Chris demanded, and that was where Chris found him. There wasn't even time to feel shocked that Wesker kept diligently on task whether or not Chris watched him; he was too furious.

 

“You lying son of a bitch!” he shouted as he burst into the room, and Wesker peered up from his work with mild surprise. Ever since Chris had broken his sunglasses, his eyes remained uncovered, exposing much more of his expressions than Chris had ever seen before – more expressions than Wesker seemed comfortable with showing, but he didn't do anything about it. It looked like he didn't keep a spare set handy in this place.

 

“Forgive me, but you'll have to be more specific,” responded Wesker flatly.

 

“Uroboros!” he snapped shortly, and he came up to the opposite side of Wesker's desk. He rummaged through the papers that Wesker had laid out, not doing much more than making a mess as he looked for an answer. “You said it was a part of me, but it's not!”

 

Now Wesker looked confused, and that was very new. His brows tightened, his lips slightly parted as he looked Chris up and down. “What do you mean?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

 

Chris wanted to be angry, but Wesker wasn't playing dumb. He honestly looked shocked – Chris didn't want to call it concern, but of course Wesker would worry; he didn't want to lose his science project. “It's sentient,” Chris told him, knocking Wesker's papers to the floor. “It tried to kill me!”

 

Reaching out with a gloved hand, Wesker snatched Chris's arm. Chris immediately tensed, braced to fight, but the touch did not seem confrontational. He did obviously want Chris to stop making a mess, but there was more to it. It was different, somehow.

 

“Calm down,” instructed Wesker, which was easy enough for him to say. “What happened?”

 

Chris jerked his arm back, bitterly knowing he could only do so because Wesker let him. “It tried to strangle me in my sleep,” he said, and Wesker expected him to be calm about it.

 

Wesker looked thoughtful for a moment, his lips pressing together. He knelt slowly, releasing Chris's arm and collecting the paperwork that Chris had shoved aside. “How?” he asked.

 

Chris found himself blinking, actually taken off guard by the question. “How what?”

 

Wesker rose up, papers in hand, and he set them back on the desk. “How did it try to kill you?” he reiterated.

 

Chris felt his anger bubble up, his hands clenching into fists. “What does it matter how--” he started, but then Wesker turned his gaze on him, the stare piercing and incredibly serious, and he decided not to bother delaying. “... it was strangling me.”

 

There wasn't even a second of hesitation. Wesker glanced at him and made the calmest response Chris could have imagined.

 

“Was it?”

 

It wasn't that Chris expected horror or concern, not from Wesker, but he at least expected... something. Chris was supposed to be his prized creation, and now he didn't seem to care about his survival one way or another.

 

“The hell do you mean 'was it'?” he accused incredulously. “I woke up and it was all over me.”

 

Wesker made a thoughtful noise. “Around your neck?”

 

Chris hesitated a moment. Had it been? He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. “It was making its way there, yeah,” he said sourly, which for some reason made Wesker smile.

 

Wesker was separating the pages on the table, spreading them out and reorganizing them. “Uroboros is not sentient,” he said plainly, and Chris stared.

 

“I just told you--”

 

“That you woke up and it was 'all over you',” interrupted Wesker, glancing at him slightly. “But not yet at your throat. Why would my most perfect creation be so dimwitted? If you were going to be strangled, you have been choked before you ever had a chance to wake up.” Wesker paused, stacking the papers. “That is, if Uroboros had a mind of its own – which it does not. When properly bonded, it only has yours.”

 

Shaking his head, Chris scoffed. “I have a hard time believing that,” he muttered. “I didn't ask it to smother me.”

 

Wesker was smiling again; Chris really did not like it. “Perhaps not consciously.”

 

Chris stared, his eyes slowly narrowing as Wesker turned towards him.

 

“Tell me, Chris,” Wesker started smoothly, his smirk spreading. “Have you been lonely?”

 

It took a moment for the implication to come through, and then Chris stiffened. Uroboros was reacting just like it did when Chris was in danger, drawing on instincts. It hadn't been smothering him; it had been embracing him.

 

It was childish, and getting in the way of Wesker's work actually inconvenienced Chris as much as it did Wesker, but it made him feel better to lash out. He knocked the papers down again, sending them spilling off the side of the desk in a flurry, and he saw Wesker's expression pinch a bit before he turned and stomped away.

 

Humiliation burned through his gut. He felt stupid, but his anger overwhelmed that easily. Wesker had been so impossibly smug about it too. Chris should have known better – but what was he supposed to think?

 

He returned to what was the only bed in this place and dropped onto it heavily. Wesker didn't even try to sleep, so the rooming situation never came up as a problem – not that Chris would be sleeping now, either. He was too pissed off, and he had a whole new thing to be concerned about, but at least he knew where it came from.

 

Chris had slept close to his partners before. It was an utterly non-sexual thing, supportive and necessary, in a lot of ways. It was about reassurance, keeping sanity in a very dark place. During a lot of his missions with Jill, the cold made it necessary, but it wasn't always about that; the climate had been sweltering in Africa, and he had still pressed up to Sheva when night came.

 

He didn't have Jill or Sheva now; he just had Wesker.

 

That was a laughable idea. Wesker probably would have liked it, though, what with all the bullshit he'd been pulling on him.

 

Uroboros reacted in attempt to resolve the problem; like scratching an itch while you slept, where you weren't aware of the motion, but your body subconsciously took care of itself. Uroboros just happened to go a little more extreme about it. It wrapped him up, cradling him while he rested – Chris didn't even know how long it had been like that before he woke up.

 

Chris still hadn't made much progress in conjuring up Uroboros at will either. Maybe if he had gotten a better control of it, he could have spared himself the embarrassment.

 

Since sleep definitely wasn't happening now, Chris stared at his arm and considered his options. He doubted he'd get much further than he had before, despite how he had been putting forth the effort. He also, however, had been stubbornly ignoring what Wesker told him to do, even if it had been sound advice.

 

It might have been time to stop being petty.

 

Chris breathed in and out, letting his eyes close. Don't think about it. Don't ask for it. Just do it. That all sounded pretty simple, but thinking about a mess of writhing tentacles as a part of him was just a little bit distracting. He didn't want to associate himself with the infection, separating it from himself as something else entirely, and that was why he failed to use it.

 

Damn it.

 

Chris wet his lips, slowly clenching his hand into a fist then loosening it again. If Uroboros came out, it should have been no different than that: opening and closing his hand. It should be just as effortless, just as unconscious. He shouldn't even have to think; he should just –

 

There. Chris's eyes snapped open when Uroboros broke out of his flesh. It hurt, and he gasped out, but he didn't let it retreat again. He had wanted this; he could control it – and he did. Chris stared down at his arm as it was swallowed up by Uroboros, and he didn't feel any panic or dread.

 

Chris dared to test it a little. Uroboros did spread when he relaxed and allowed it to, and likewise it would draw back when he wanted. The command he had, when he didn't think too hard about it, was incredible. He could control Uroboros down to one individual tendril, threading it between his fingers. While it was fascinating, Chris didn't feel pleased or awed; he still knew what this was. He wasn't welcoming it in the slightest, no matter how powerful it could be.

 

There still was only so much he could do. Chris was suddenly reminded that he was still an amateur, left utterly drained by even the short experience.

 

Suddenly, sleeping didn't seem so far away now. Chris let Uroboros draw away, and he sunk back on the cot. Chris rolled onto his side, staring at the wall as he rubbed at his arm a little. If it came down to a confrontation with Wesker, Chris would tire first. Wesker had years to adjust and evolve with his virus, and Chris had barely even begun. He might win out of sheer raw onslaught, like he did at the lab, but there was another thing assisting him: Wesker didn't want to fight. He wanted something else entirely.

 

As if summoned by his thoughts, Chris could hear footsteps. He was so close to unconsciousness, and that small sound still stirred him awake. Chris felt like his senses had improved, maybe just a little, but he tried to ignore it; thinking too much about his transformation became unnerving very quickly.

 

Wesker came forward in slow steps. He was still incredibly quiet and light on his feet, despite how much leather he wore. While he would have had the space, he didn't make any motion to sit on the cot or slip up beside him. What he did do, though, was lower one gloved hand and slide it very gently over his hair. If Chris wasn't so tired, he would have jerked away from the contact, but now he could hardly summon up the effort; it was a harmless gesture, anyway.

 

Or, it had been. Chris could hear the brush of leather moving when Wesker bent down. There was a moment of stillness, almost hesitation, before Wesker acted: he pressed his lips against Chris's neck, the kiss wet and warm. Wesker had those heightened senses too, and Chris wondered if it was enough for him to tell if Chris was sleeping or not.

 

“I'm awake.”

 

Given that Wesker went very still, Chris guessed not.

 

“What?” he muttered, his voice slurred with sleep. “You lonely too?”

 

There was a moment of shocked silence, which Chris expected, and then there was something he _didn't_ expect. “Perhaps,” admitted Wesker, and Chris couldn't tell if that was mocking or not.

 

“Too bad,” he sighed, and _he_ was certainly mocking. “I've got Uroboros.”

 

Wesker laughed a little, leaving with a lingering touch to Chris's hair.


	5. Overflow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: overflow.

Wesker couldn't say what it was that brought him outside. He was, perhaps, tired of working for a cure which he did not want or need, but he usually had little trouble keeping up the illusion. Tonight, however, something had made him restless. It was likely that he could have sensed what was happening outside, even if he could not hear or see it.

 

Chris had been sulking elsewhere, and Wesker thought nothing of abandoning his current project. He left his work and the privacy of their little hideaway, stepping back out into the world.

 

Wesker hadn't seen rain in quite some time, and it felt significant somehow.

 

He remained in the shelter of the doorway as he watched the rain fall. It wasn't a storm, but the sky was overcast and the downpour was heavy. Wesker began to pull away his gloves, dropping them down to the ground with little care. He reached out, his hand bare and his palm up, and he caught the first cool drops of rain against his skin. The sensation felt magnified, getting down into his bones. He exhaled deeply and his eyes fluttered shut as he focused on that feeling, becoming oddly introspective.

 

After so much time spent in Africa, this was a welcome change from the smothering heat – not that Wesker had felt very much bothered by the climate. As far back as he could remember, he had always been unnaturally cold. It wasn't often drawn attention to, but Excella had noticed. He remained clad entirely in leather, while she dressed in thin, cool silk. Her clothing had been meant to entice, of course, but was also in response to the heat – the same heat which Wesker never felt at all. Even in the hottest days, he did not shed his jacket.

 

He shrugged out of it now, letting it drop in the open doorway as he stepped outside. Wesker tipped his head back, his eyes fluttering shut against the falling rain. There was something very raw in the power of the weather, something so impossible to contain or control. The water was cool and oddly soothing; it caught on his lashes, spilling down the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, gathering in the crease of his lips. The rain soaked him quickly, plastering his hair against his skull. When he lowered his head again, water spilled under his collar, dripping down his neck and along the length of his spine.

 

Wesker sighed softly, and the sound was lost in the noise of the downpour.

 

Excella hadn't missed the oddity in how he dressed. She touched him in increasing boldness in their time together, and when she finally touched his skin, her hand drew back in reflexive shock.

 

“You're freezing,” she breathed in surprise.

 

It was possibly a side effect of the virus, though Wesker could not be sure. He rarely felt hot or cold himself, but his flesh was icy. Right now, however, he felt strangely suffocated – not overheated, per se, but constricted. His fingers lifted, unfastening the clasp at his throat and then pulling the zipper down.

 

When the first droplets hit exposed skin, Wesker hissed softly; his skin was always cold, but for some strange reason, it now seemed burning hot compared to the rain. He could feel every freezing drop that hit his flesh with startling intensity. He kept going, unzipping all the way from his collar to down beneath his navel. The rain hit his chest steadily, leaving him shivering and sensitive.

 

“Like touching snow,” Excella had continued, slowly laying her hand back against his arm, “do you think enough heat can melt you...?”

 

Snow was just frozen rain.

 

Wesker hadn't replied. Her advance had been dodged, and she was only mildly irritated by it. She seemed to actually enjoy that he did not give in to her so easily, but she never realized that he had no intention of succumbing at all. She did, though – she succumbed to Uroboros.

 

Chris hadn't; Chris had overcome it, and made it his own.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Wesker turned his head almost lazily, finding Chris standing outside the doorway. He had taken Wesker's jacket from where he dropped it, and now held it over his head, using it to shield himself from the rain. It looked a bit comical, really. It wasn't the best coverage, but it was keeping his head dry. Chris had to shout to be heard over the rain, and he didn't look very happy about it. Holding a hand out towards him, Wesker smiled.

 

“Come here,” he coaxed, causing Chris to narrow those red eyes at him. Such beautiful eyes.

 

“Stop being a lunatic and get out of the rain,” Chris snapped shortly, pacing up closer to him. Wesker thought about that little demand, and his smile spread.

 

“You almost sound concerned,” he observed amusedly. “It's not as if I can catch cold.” Not when he was so frigid already.

 

It was strange, though. Wesker's virus made him cold, but Uroboros increased Chris's body temperature immensely. Chris didn't seem to realize it, but Wesker did; it was startlingly obvious when he was this close. Chris was still a safe distance away, and Wesker could feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

 

Snow was just frozen rain, waiting to be melted.

 

Chris adjusted the jacket over his head, scowling. “You're sick in your head already,” he accused. One day Chris's insults might improve, but it was not today. “Get back inside.”

 

Wesker chuckled softly, undeterred. It was a wonder that Chris bothered; the rain had already soaked him. Some had even slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, small drops of water spilling down the back of his thighs as he walked towards Chris.

 

“What worries you?” Wesker asked.

 

Chris's eyes narrowed, and then something new happened: they glowed. Chris didn't even seem to notice it, but Wesker certainly did, and with great delight; Uroboros was getting stronger. “You're standing in the middle of a storm like a goddamn crazy person,” he snapped.

 

“I wouldn't call this a storm,” responded Wesker mildly, turning his palms up towards the rain. There was no wind, no thunder... just the rain steadily pouring downward. “It's actually quite calm.”

 

That did little to sway Chris. He reached out to grab Wesker's forearm, leaving just one hand holding up the coat. “I am not in the mood for your bullshit!”

 

Pliant in Chris's hold, Wesker examined him. Those eyes were still glowing, and he seemed a little more short tempered than usual. It was, perhaps, a side effect of the infection, but that didn't sound quite right.“What's brought this on?” asked Wesker smoothly.

 

Of course, the question could have been directed at himself as well; Wesker wasn't quite sure what had gotten into him since stepping out into the rain.

 

Stalking closer, Chris didn't give him a verbal reply. He threw the coat over Wesker instead, covering him, and Wesker paused for a moment. He lifted his hands, adjusting the jacket so his face wasn't obscured, and he peered up at Chris from underneath it.

 

Chris met his gaze, red eyes burning. “Now get inside,” he ordered, barking like a drill sergeant. Chris would have trained good men.

 

Wesker remained remarkably unmoved. “You know, that did not do you much good,” he told Chris blandly, watching the rain pour down on him. “Now we're both wet.”

 

Chris stayed silent and scowling, quickly becoming soaked to the bone. As close as Chris was, his heat was even more obvious. Chris was incredibly warm; hot enough to melt him, Wesker would wager, from snow to rain.

 

“Kiss me,” he said suddenly, “and I'll come inside.”

 

Chris's red eyes widened a fraction. Wesker wondered how many times he would have to ask before Chris stopped being so startled by the invitations. Smiling, Wesker stepped forward, close enough to feel the heat of Chris's breaths as he exhaled.

 

If snow fell on someone's lips, their breaths would surely melt it. Snow turned to rain, and what would Wesker change into, under a similar circumstance?

 

“Stay in the rain, for all I care,” muttered Chris, turning and leaving Wesker where he stood.

 

Chris _had_ cared, though, in some respect, or else he wouldn't have bothered at all.

 

Wesker did stay, but only for a moment longer. He left the rain behind, following after Chris, and he dropped the coat behind him once he passed through the door. Chris wasn't too far ahead, kicking off his soaked boots. His back was to Wesker, and his wet shirt clung to his body, making every muscle in Chris's upper body incredibly defined.

 

Chris bent to pull off his socks, which were presumably also drenched, but Wesker wasn't paying attention to that. When Chris arched, moving his arms, the strong muscles of his back worked with every motion. His shoulders were broad, powerful, and there didn't seem to be an ounce of weight left on him that was not used for muscle. Chris had worked himself to his full potential – an incredible example of humanity, but it was _only_ human. Now, he was something much greater.

 

Chris pulled his dripping shirt off too, only noticing Wesker behind him after he had finished. Chris did not appear self-conscious, and he had no reason to be, in Wesker's opinion. His chest was densely muscled and thick hair covered him, leading all the way down below his waistline. Some of the water clung against his skin, a few droplets sticking in place and others dripping in slow paths down his abdomen. There was an odd, sudden urge to lick away at those small drops of water, which was terribly unlike him.

 

The rest of Chris would remain covered, but Wesker presumed it was all... proportionate.

 

Chris allowed Wesker to come closer, and their red eyes met. Wesker asked for Chris to kiss him more than once, and Chris was still stubbornly denying him. Wesker had stolen kisses before, and he could have taken more; it would have been easy... and that was the problem. It was too easy to _take,_ and it was ultimately unsatisfying by comparison. Wesker had the power to _take_ whatever he wanted, but that grew thin quickly, and the pleasure was shallow. Rape was a coward's game. Forcing the act robbed it of all significance. There was never as much pleasure as there was in reciprocation, in being wanted – being worshiped.

 

If he wanted Chris, he would wait, and he would make Chris want him in return.

 

Wesker came up close behind Chris, bending his head and licking the water from his skin, drinking what had been caught in that little dip between his neck and his shoulder. Chris shuddered, and it definitely was not in disgust.

 

“Get off,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder back as he stepped away. His pace was languid though, not hurried or in any real rush to flee. It seemed terribly half-hearted, so Wesker did not take it as a genuine protest.

 

Smiling faintly, Wesker reached down, grabbing Chris by the hips and pulling him back. “Why were you so concerned about me?” he murmured against the back of his throat.

 

“I wasn't,” Chris muttered. “Don't flatter yourself.”

 

So Chris said, but he didn't move away from Wesker's hands. Wesker smiled, rubbing his thumbs against those dimples at the small of Chris's back. “Then why did you let yourself get soaked?” he asked lowly.

 

Chris turned around suddenly, red eyes glowing, and Wesker welcomed the stare. He was so close now, and Wesker could feel that heat again; he was practically drawn to it. “You're the loneliest person I've ever known,” muttered Chris quietly, and it sounded like it was meant to be an insult, but his voice was far too sad for that.

 

Reaching up, Wesker cupped Chris's face in his palms, letting their foreheads touch. He expected nothing, except perhaps another denial or for Chris to twist away, but Chris stayed where he was instead. Wesker could feel Chris's breaths mingle with his own, so much warmer, and he parted his lips, welcoming it. Even that little bit of closeness could have melted him.

 

Chris's next breath hitched, and then he pressed their lips together.

 

Wesker went still with shock, but it was incredibly brief. There was only so long that he could remain passive. He buried his fingers into Chris's hair, gripping hard, but he didn't force the kiss deeper – there would be time for that later. Wesker let Chris command the kiss, welcoming it as his tongue pressed deep. Chris kissed hard, full of tongue and teeth, before quickly retreating away again, and Wesker did not pursue him. This was more than enough for now, even if it was brief. Chris was the one who initiated – which meant he could not deny that he _wanted_ this – and Chris was also the one who broke it off, bowing his head aside and exhaling raggedly. Wesker groaned quietly, his grip relaxing into something gentler as he stroked Chris's hair with slender fingers.

 

“Lonely as you,” Wesker murmured against his mouth.

 

That had been one step too far, apparently. It was enough to inspire Chris to shove Wesker off, and he stalked away down the hall with a series of muttered curses. Wesker didn't chase him this time – at least not right away. He let Chris go, knowing very well where he was heading. There was only one place Chris could go to pretend to be alone – and even if he didn't know, there was a trail of wet clothing left behind as Chris stripped along the way.

 

Wesker followed in his own time.


	6. Look Over Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: look over here.

Chris didn't know what he had been thinking when he found Wesker in the rain. He had assumed the worst when he saw that Wesker was missing, but it wasn't like he had anywhere to go. If he ran, Chris still had his injections, so he wouldn't get very far without them. Besides, if Wesker was going to try something, why bother waiting so long? It didn't make sense. Still. Chris felt on edge, and he wasn't sure what he would have expected, but it wasn't this.

 

Chris had stood in the open doorway and stared. Wesker looked... different, difficult to define. So much of Wesker was vanity and strictly held composure, and under the rain Wesker had none of that at all. He had his head tipped back towards the sky, his hair a mess, his clothing soaked and in disarray. Wesker looked totally unlike himself, and appeared serene in a strange way.

 

Chris didn't know why it _bothered_ him so much.

 

Speaking of his clothing... Chris had bent down, grabbing Wesker's jacket and using it to hide from the rain. It was a poor excuse for an umbrella, but it was all he had. He tried to get Wesker to go back inside without any real success.

 

“ _Kiss me and I'll come inside.”_

 

When Wesker asked, it somehow frustrated Chris more than when he would just take it. It bothered him so much because every time Wesker asked, the more Chris honestly considered it.

 

Wesker must have been infecting Chris with his insanity.

 

Chris knew enough about Stockholm Syndrome, but to be honest, Chris was the one keeping Wesker here, if he wanted to get technical. Wesker wasn't his captor, but he was stuck with him all the same, so it may have still qualified. Admittedly, Wesker had been mostly harmless in their time together.

 

That would be excluding whole Uroboros thing – which was a pretty big goddamn mark against him, so Chris had a hard time accepting the rest of the 'kindness'.

 

Chris didn't like to think too much about Wesker's motivations. Wesker had done this to him on purpose; he had offered Chris the world – and quite honestly too. Chris didn't realize it at the time, but Wesker had been genuine. Wesker wanted to be a God while Chris was... what? Gods didn't have equals. Gods had servants, and Chris had made it very clear how that wouldn't be happening.

 

So then what?

 

“ _I am uninterested in everyone, except for you.”_

 

Chris couldn't imagine the damage that Spencer had done. He had heard part of it, and he still couldn't bring himself to fathom how much deeper it went. It sure as hell didn't excuse Wesker, but it certainly explained a lot. So much of Wesker had been cruelty and deception, but Chris did believe Wesker was genuine in this: he did want Chris.

 

Chris had slipped. He couldn't even try to lie and defend himself: he had kissed Wesker and now he was berating himself for it.

 

It must have seemed like an invitation, the way he was pulling off his clothes, and dropping them without care as he walked. Chris was too distracted to think anything of it; he just didn't want to be cold and wet anymore. Now he was even angrier than before, without much to be done about it. Chris dropped back on top of the sheets, glaring into the wall, and Wesker's footsteps slowly followed after him.

 

His hearing was sharp enough that he could tell Wesker had taken off his boots. How much else he'd taken off, though, Chris couldn't be sure. Wesker stopped next to the bed, not climbing in or reaching out, but standing next to it – waiting to be invited, Chris imagined.

 

“Chris, look at me.”

 

Chris stayed right where he was. He knew what he'd see if he turned around and he wasn't going to do it. Wesker had stripped when he was in the rain, and the water would still be on his skin – skin that was different than Chris remembered. Wesker used to be so much paler, and so much time in Africa had changed that quickly. It wasn't quite tan; more like bronze, and it was incredibly distracting.

 

Chris had finally admitted it to himself: this was a problem.

 

When Chris gave no reply, Wesker eventually spoke again. “Do you know what Uroboros means?” he asked.

 

Chris found himself a bit startled by the question. He didn't reply, though; he didn't want to give Wesker the satisfaction.

 

“The serpent who devours his own tail,” continued Wesker, his voice seeming closer now. “It means infinity, the cycle of the universe: life born of death, creation made from destruction.”

 

That last one sounded chaotic enough to appeal to Wesker. Chris scowled and kept his silence, not budging an inch, and Wesker seemed far from deterred. “I believe that suits the two of us,” he added, sounding oddly quiet, like he was confessing something secret, but Chris felt skeptical about that.

 

“That was my gift for the new world,” Wesker said, his voice lower now, “but now there's only you.”

 

Chris felt oddly chilled by that, his shoulders stiffening, and he could tell what was coming next. “Chris, I cannot purge Uroboros.”

 

Bullshit, was the first thing on Chris's mind. His chest felt tight, and his hands clenched against the sheets. Wesker could do it; he just didn't fucking _want_ to do it. He probably didn't even try. He didn't want to cure Chris, because then he'd continue to have the excuse to keep the two of them together, playing whatever twisted union that he wanted. He didn't know how to show desire like a normal person, so he did this instead.

 

“Look at me, Chris.”

 

The worst part, was realizing that Wesker probably didn't realize how goddamn lonely he was until he broke away from Spencer. When Spencer died, how much of his mind did Wesker get back? Now that the dam was broken, he didn't know what to do with what flooded out of him. He never talked about playing God before, maybe that had been what snapped in him. The idea of being worshiped must have sounded so appealing, after being denied affection for his entire life.

 

Chris stiffened when he felt Wesker touch him. The contact was mild, his fingers smoothing out wet hair. For the first time, Wesker didn't have his gloves, and Chris could feel how cold his fingers were. “Chris,” he said again, voice coaxing, and there was also something needy behind it. “Look at me.”

 

Chris didn't waver. Wesker certainly deserved a hell of a lot of pity, but not sympathy – not from Chris. He didn't care about how broken his life had been, there had to have been some of that which was solely Wesker's fault. There was only so much accountability that he could shrug away due to Spencer's conditioning.

 

Wesker started kissing him again. It started with small things, chaste little presses of his lips against the back of Chris's neck. As Chris remained unmoved, he grew bolder, obviously trying to spark out a reaction. He ran his tongue against his skin, tasting rainwater and sweat.

 

“Get off,” said Chris, finally speaking and trying to shove Wesker back, but he was having none of it.

 

Obviously riled, Wesker pushed forward, finally climbing onto the bed. Chris resisted, but Wesker was persistent, rolling Chris onto his back and getting on top of him – and suddenly it became obvious that Wesker wasn't wearing anything at all. Chris fought instinctively, and Wesker pinned his arms with strong hands, holding him in place.

 

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice a low hiss, and he grabbed Chris's face, ensuring the order was obeyed this time.

 

Chris did look – he wasn't given much choice – and he found himself stilling in the middle of his struggle. While his hair was obviously still damp, Wesker had tried to smooth it back again, pressing on that insistent vanity. A few strands were out of place, small curls falling against his forehead. Chris had been adjusting to the sight of Wesker without his sunglasses, but something about the look in his eyes still took him off guard. Wesker seemed strangely open, his lips parted for shallow breaths and his body tensed.

 

This was different.

 

Wesker just held Chris for a moment, waiting, and when Chris went lax underneath him, unresisting, he let go. The hand on his face lingered for a moment, fingers caressing his cheek then sliding down his throat, before withdrawing entirely.

 

“Look at me,” he repeated quietly, softer this time. The tone of his voice seemed somewhere between inviting and entreating.

 

It took a moment for Chris to realize what Wesker wanted. Wesker thought himself to be a God and he wanted to feel worshiped in every inch of himself; Wesker wanted to feel wanted. Chris narrowed his eyes, and he wouldn't play along. Wesker was utterly bare, slick with the rain and straddling his hips, but Chris's gaze didn't move from Wesker's face.

 

Wesker's expression tightened in displeasure. “Chris,” he hissed lowly, like a warning, but Chris was confident that Wesker wouldn't try to force him. If Wesker had wanted it like that, he would have done it a long time ago.

 

No, that wouldn't have been good enough. Resorting to forcing it meant that he was utterly unwanted, undesirable, and Wesker was too proud for that. He wanted Chris to reciprocate.

 

Wesker's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the dim light. “You kissed me,” Wesker reminded, his mouth smirking.

 

Chris felt his lips tighten. Yes, he had kissed Wesker. He couldn't deny that, but he could say that he didn't fully understand why he did it. There was something about seeing Wesker out in the rain that got to him. He had wanted Wesker to come back inside immediately, and the instinct almost more possessive than protective. He had even admitted it out loud: Wesker had seemed so fucking lonely that it was hard to watch. Chris knew too much about what had happened to him, and after so long, it was hard to not act.

 

This whole situation was fucking with his head.

 

Chris gave in and he let his eyes roam over Wesker. His gaze followed the sweep of his collarbone, then over narrow shoulders. Wesker was built to be fairly slender, but he was still muscular. The definition in his chest drew Chris's attention, and Chris knew that while Wesker looked slim in comparison to him, his body hid a lot of power.

 

Wesker breathed out deeply as Chris watched him. His tanned skin was surprisingly smooth, hairless – except between his legs. Chris's stare was drawn there, and he could see the effect it had on Wesker. Wesker's breathing hitched, and his hands tightened down against the sheets.

 

If so much as looking at him did that much, Chris couldn't imagine how Wesker would react if Chris actually touched him.

 

Wesker was catching on, leaning forward and speaking lowly. “Why did you kiss me?” he asked, and Chris didn't have an answer then, and he didn't have one now. “Why did you come out in the rain?”

 

“I don't know,” admitted Chris honestly, and he kept speaking without realizing what he was saying. “You looked sad.”

 

That startled Wesker, his eyes widening in almost exaggerated shock, and the expression gradually melted into something milder. Wesker shifted suddenly, moving to sink down against Chris, and he made a chiding sound when Chris began to struggle again.

 

“Don't fight,” he said quietly. “Go to sleep.”

 

Chris hadn't been expecting that; he had naturally assumed that Wesker wanted... something else. It was his turn to be shocked, but Wesker didn't seem concerned with it. Wesker was making himself comfortable against Chris's body, soaking in his heat like a reptile on a hot stone, his head pillowed above Chris's quickly beating heart. Chris stared down at him in disbelief. Wesker seemed suddenly so... subdued.

 

“You're very warm,” sighed Wesker quietly. He sounded almost covetous about it, and it was easy to see why when Chris realized how cold Wesker was. His body was chilled against his skin, and he almost wanted to blame the rain for that, but Chris had been out there too, and he wasn't _this_ cold. Chris had warmed up since then, but Wesker hadn't.

 

Chris reached out, and what came next was utterly unconscious. Uroboros broke from his flesh, wrapping around his arm and then around Wesker. Chris stilled in shock and so did Wesker, but neither drew away. Chris wasn't even meaning to do it, but the tendrils were curling around Wesker, cradling him. Uroboros was doing what it always did: acting out on Chris's will, even if he didn't realize that he was asking for it. He had reached out with the intent of touching Wesker, and Uroboros took over for him.

 

Eyes fluttering with a sort of blissful pleasure, Wesker smiled and turned his head. He pressed a kiss against one tendril of the writhing mass, and then melted down against Chris again.

 

“I told you,” he said. “It suits us.”

 

Chris said nothing else, staying wide awake as Wesker curled against him, falling asleep while embraced by Uroboros.


	7. Possessive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: if only i could make you mine.
> 
> The rating has finally bumped up. Warnings for tentacles used as bondage and as... well, the usual way they're used in these kinds of stories.

Wesker expected to wake up and be alone. Chris had been stiff and restless as they lay together, and Wesker imagined that it wouldn't take long for his patience to thin and draw him out of bed. While it was true that Chris wasn't underneath Wesker anymore, he was still keeping Wesker company. His body was surrounded by that unfamiliar heat, held by Uroboros, and he felt a smile tug at his lips: Chris had stayed and slept beside him, kept him warm.

 

Chris wasn't sleeping now, though. From the corner of Wesker's eye, he could see him sitting up in bed, and he wondered how long Chris had been awake. Wesker sighed, unwilling to break this connection yet, but Chris had already noticed that he was stirring.

 

“Are you awake?”

 

It seemed like such a domestic thing. Wesker found it amusing, but he remained silent. Once he and Chris were awake and speaking, the moment would surely be spoiled and they would return to their usual displeasure with one another.

 

Uroboros was retreating, and Wesker made a tired protest, laying his hand over the tendrils. Wesker couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lazy; the heat he stole from Chris was likely to blame for that. “Almost,” he murmured in reply.

 

The bed shifted as Chris moved, and Wesker could hear him sigh. He was beginning to think Chris hadn't slept at all.

 

“Did you mean it,” asked Chris, his voice low, “what you said about curing Uroboros?”

 

Wesker kept his eyes closed, making a small, affirmative sound. “Yes.”

 

Uroboros tightened around Wesker's wrist, and Chris may not have even been aware of the reaction. “That you can't fix it, or _won't_ fit it?” Chris demanded, his voice angry but not raised. He still spoke very quietly, and Wesker found that oddly intimate.

 

Wesker exhaled deeply, staying where he was against the bed. “Both,” he responded. “Even if I could, I wouldn't.”

 

The tendrils pulled tighter, and Wesker remained calm. He doubted that Chris would actually hurt him now; he had nothing to gain, and Chris was not the type for petty murder. He might want a brawl, though, to make himself feel a little better.

 

Wesker rolled onto the back, opening his eyes and peering up at Chris. Chris was sitting up stiffly, looming over Wesker somewhat. Chris looked absolutely furious with him, ready to kill him, but Wesker knew better; he had seen the way Chris looked at him, and had been kissed by him.

 

“Besides,” Wesker said, gesturing to Uroboros. “It seems like you've finally gotten the hang of it.”

 

Chris scoffed, the tendrils pulling back, but they did not withdraw entirely. Wesker reached his hand up, laying it over Chris's muscled chest, and Chris stiffened at the touch. Uroboros snatched around Wesker's wrist again, but it did not pull him away, letting Wesker's fingers curl around the coarse hairs on Chris's abdomen. Chris had always been physically powerful, and now he excelled even beyond the capacities of his limited humanity. He had become something else entirely: a kind of power that would never be replicated.

 

Wesker raised his hand, cupping Chris's cheek in his palm and rubbing his thumb beneath those crimson eyes of his. “I could never destroy my magnum opus,” he murmured faintly.

 

Chris looked startled, pulling away from Wesker's hand and glaring, his eyes adopting a faint glow. It cast red light over Chris's cheeks, like a blush, and it was captivating. Beautiful. Chris had no idea how perfect he had become.

 

Wesker leaned back, his eyes hooded and glowing beneath his lashes.“I always thought we belonged together,” he told him.

 

Chris looked skeptical, and he moved forward nonetheless. He shifted his position, his hand bracing on the sheets on either side of Wesker's head, propping himself up as he loomed over him. He bent down low, and he scrutinized him.

 

“You've forced it now,” Chris accused quietly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

 

Wesker met Chris's gaze, unwavering, and he spoke without hesitation. “You could have gone home,” he pointed out. “You chose me.”

 

Chris's jaw worked furiously, struggling to speak, but Wesker knew whatever protest Chris made would be shallow. He could have feared his government, and how they might turn him into little more than an experiment, but did he truly favor Wesker as an alternative? If Chris truly hated him so deeply, he wouldn't have gone this far – even if he felt trapped by his own people. Chris had also placed a great deal of faith in Wesker's genius, to expect his cure to come from him.

 

Chris could still go home; Wesker was not keeping him by any means, but still he stayed.

 

“You chose me,” repeated Wesker, quieter than before, and he cupped Chris's face in his hands, stubble prickling against his palms.

 

Although he was still scowling, Chris didn't fight now, letting Wesker run his thumbs over his cheeks. Chris was square-jawed, his features broad and his hair messy. Wesker ran his hand back through Chris's hair, trying to smooth it, but the short locks stayed stubbornly in disarray, and Wesker didn't bother attempting it twice. It seemed more natural for Chris to look this way.

 

“You have no idea how it feels to want someone,” said Chris coldly. “Do you?”

 

The accusation gave Wesker pause. Naturally, of course Wesker knew what it felt like, but Chris was implying something more than that; he meant affection, and all those little things that were far beneath Wesker. If Chris was asking for that, he would be deeply disappointed.

 

“I want you,” he countered easily.

 

Chris frowned at him, looking conflicted, and for a moment Wesker was certain that he would draw away. Instead, he began to bend down, coming incredibly close, and Wesker let his eyes close in anticipation of a kiss – but Chris's lips did not touch his own; Chris kissed his brow instead.

 

It was unexpected enough that Wesker opened his eyes again. Chris kept going, kissing one eyebrow, and then the other, his lips drifting across his forehead, then down the bridge of Wesker's nose. Wesker's eyes fluttered shut again when Chris kissed each one, and he exhaled deeply. Each press of Chris's lips was slow, lingering, and soft – almost affectionate, but definitely more cautious in nature. Chris didn't seem able to decide if he wanted to continue or not. Every time he stalled for a moment, almost drawing back, before tentatively touching his lips to another part of Wesker's face. He moved in a slow path over his cheek, following the slope of his jaw up to his ear. Chris kissed him everywhere on his face – except for his lips.

 

That was when Chris paused, letting out a shuddering exhale, the sensation shivering across Wesker's skin. He arched when Chris pulled back, unconsciously asking for more with his body rather than with his words. His chest pressed against Chris's, and he shuddered at the scratch of coarse hairs against his skin. Physically, Chris was larger than he was; broader and more densely muscled. The virus had always given Wesker the advantage, and he wondered how what it would be like, now that Chris had control of Uroboros, if it were to escalate to another conflict between them.

 

Wesker doubted that it would come to that again. Chris wouldn't fight him; if he wanted that, he would have attempted it already. Instead, he was here, covering Wesker's face with kisses, and tracing his mouth with a callused thumb. His own virus kept his skin smooth, healed, and Uroboros seemed to not be doing the same to Chris. Chris's skin was still rough, worn, dragging across his lips, and Wesker parted them, his tongue brushing across the pad of Chris's thumb. Chris was breathing shallowly, his red eyes glowing as he slowly pressed his thumb inside of Wesker's mouth, and he let out a sound that was dragged into a moan – undeniably full of lust.

 

Chris was instigating; Wesker had made Chris want him.

 

Wesker reached out, and he wrapped his arms around Chris's broad shoulders, dragging him close. The motion made Chris stumble, his hand falling away from Wesker's mouth and leaving him free to speak. “Mine,” he breathed fiercely, lips murmuring against Chris's ear.

 

Chris did not take kindly to that. He reacted in a hurry, Uroboros lashing out and throwing Wesker back down again, his arms pinned above his head. Chris's eyes gleamed furiously now, anger written on his face as he glared down at Wesker.

 

“It doesn't work like that,” said Chris lowly.

 

Wesker kept his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing up at Chris in suspicion. Chris didn't want to be owned; it was little surprise, but there was no way to deny that Wesker had his part in this – he had made Chris into this greater being. Wesker was owed ownership of Uroboros. Wesker lay back, his hands limp and unresisting in Chris's hold, and he waited.

 

Chris was still incredibly close, and hadn't bothered redressing since he'd stripped away his rain-soaked clothing. He seemed utterly unselfconscious, and equally unconcerned with Wesker's own nudity. Wesker remembered when Chris was in his cell, barking accusations, and he wondered if Chris had made such assumptions based on his own experiences.

 

“ _Maybe you just aren't interested in women.”_

 

Wesker's lips quirked, because Chris clearly wasn't.

 

“How does it work?” inquired Wesker, sounding as if he was indulging Chris, but the curiosity was partially genuine. He wasn't sure what Chris wanted now. Wesker arched up again, his movement restrained by Uroboros, but he was still able to rub their chests together. “Show me.”

 

That caused quite the reaction. Chris shuddered like nothing else, a breathless curse slipping from his lips, and his powerful body sunk against Wesker's heavily. Wesker wondered, idly, how much Chris wanted to do with him, and how often he fought with himself about it.

 

“Mutual,” said Chris quietly, his fingers once again tracing Wesker's lips, and they fell away before Wesker could chase them with his tongue.

 

Chris said he came out into the rain because Wesker seemed _sad_. Wesker found that admittedly belittling. It was such a simple thing, and there was something so compromising about it. Wesker wondered what Chris felt since finding those tapes and learning about what Wesker was bred to be – he wouldn't have been able to cope if it had been pity. He refused to have Chris pity him.

 

Wesker doubt that it was. Chris said a great deal, with shallow insults and bravado, but Wesker did not feel the impression that Chris pitied his unfortunate fate. Wesker wouldn't even call it sympathy; it was difficult to define – like his own feelings for Chris were.

 

Wesker leaned up, seeking out a kiss, and Chris turned his face aside, still denying him. Wesker scowled, hissing out an exhale as Chris bent his head, sucking wetly at Wesker's neck. Chris alternated teeth and tongue, pinching and licking, and Wesker tilted his head back, unthinkingly exposing more flesh to be touched. The contact felt dizzying, but it would have been better if Chris was kissing his mouth instead. Wesker wet his lips, trying to coax a reaction, but Chris was already moving downward. It seemed like Chris was perfectly willing to kiss everywhere else, except his lips.

 

He was doing that _on purpose_. “Chris,” warned Wesker lowly, edging towards anger, but it was short-lived when Chris reacted.

 

Chris laughed.

 

It wasn't a mocking thing; it was barely even there at all. Chris was breathless enough already that the noise was just slightly audible. The only way Wesker really noticed it was because his lips turned up when he exhaled, and the hitch in his breath was actually the faintest sort of chuckle. The sound was so slight, so carefree, and Wesker realized that meant just how much Chris was enjoying himself – enjoying doing this to him.

 

Wesker arched again, trying to move, but Urobros was still tight around his arms, keeping them pinned. He couldn't touch Chris, and he wanted to now more than ever.

 

“Chris,” he repeated, feeling an unfamiliar rush at realizing how securely he was restrained – that had not been possible for years. Wesker had not been overpowered in a long time; it did more to him than he would have expected.

 

Chris brushed his lips down Wesker's collarbone, light and chaste, before he closed his lips around his nipple and sucked. Wesker's breath hitched and he struggled against Uroboros. He was held tightly, and he couldn't do much more with his arms than squirm – but his legs were free.

 

Wesker moved quickly, wrapping his legs around Chris's hips, and the muffled sound of shock that Chris made against his chest was incredibly satisfying. Wesker hooked his ankles at the small of Chris's back and he pulled, dragging him close so they were touching, hip-to-hip. Wesker was hard – he had been for some time now – and he felt Chris's answering erection rub against his stomach.

 

“God,” Chris breathed, voice mumbling against Wesker's skin. Chris buried his face against his neck, breathing hotly against his throat. Chris was so warm – even more so now that he was riled. Wesker soaked it up, squeezing his legs tight around him. He didn't think much about the position, or how submissive it may have been. He wanted Chris close, and he didn't care much about the details of it.

 

In fact, this was much more powerful. Wesker wanted Chris to want him, and if Chris was the aggressor, the dominant half, it meant that he had truly given in. If Wesker led, and made Chris submit, there would be too much space for doubt. Chris could say he had been coerced, overpowered, but not like this. Chris was the one who had Wesker restrained; Chris was the one on top of him.

 

One big hand braced on Wesker's hip, holding him down against the bed, and then Chris started moving. He rolled his hips, his stiffened cock rubbing against Wesker's, and the sound Chris made was something Wesker needed to commit to memory. Chris moaned deeply, low and ragged, and shook like he was breaking down when he began to thrust. Every motion was slow, powerful, and each time Chris let out an almost desperate sound of pleasure.

 

More than anything, Wesker wanted to see his face. Chris was still hiding away against his neck, and Wesker could feel him panting, hear him gasping, but he couldn't _see_ him, and his face must have been twisted up in unbelievable pleasure. Wesker tried to free his hands again, but Uroboros held tighter.

 

“Give me more,” Wesker moaned quietly, barely aware that he had spoken.

 

Chris groaned under his breath, and Wesker wondered if he was fully aware of what happened next. Slick, slithering caresses came over the back of his thighs, and Wesker went very still as Uroboros pressed against him.

 

“Chris,” he cautioned, and all he heard in response was a dazed sound of lust. Chris sounded like he was miles away, still rolling his hips and panting against Wesker's neck. The pressure increased, becoming more insistent, and Wesker's body tensed. “ _Chris_.”

 

A wet kiss was pressed against his jaw, and Wesker was no longer worried about Chris's consciousness. “Let me,” Chris murmured, hazy but coherent. “God – let me...” It sounded distant, but it was definitely pleading; Chris wanted it that much.

 

Wesker did not even consider fighting. He let his eyes flutter shut, and did as Chris had entreated: he let him.

 

Uroboros pressed up between his legs, and Wesker let out an almost snarling sound as he was breached. The tendril was slick, slender, and his body healed with ease, but the intrusion still came with an initial rush of pain.

 

The first contact was too alien to be considered pleasant. One slick tendril penetrated him, slipping up inside of him, and his body's first instinct was to clench down. The sensation doubled, and Wesker gave a choked cry, straining to arch with what little space he had to move. Slowly, Uroboros pressed deeper, slicking and seeking, and he started panting, his hands clenching into fists. The brunt of the pain was over soon, replaced with slowly building pleasure as Uroboros curled inside of him.

 

“Chris,” he hissed, and the reaction was immediate. Chris buried his fingers into Wesker's hair, leaning up and kissing him all over: his forehead, his cheeks, and at last his gaping mouth. The latter should have come with satisfaction, but Wesker was too dazed to think of kissing back.

 

Slowly, he began to adjust. The tendril worked slowly, stretching and exploring, finding which angles drew shudders and focusing there. Soon, Wesker wasn't fighting. He even regained enough control to move his hips back, encouraging it deeper – then second tendril joined the first, and the momentary calm was stolen again.

 

The two twisted inside of him, straining him, and Wesker thrashed. He let out a strangled moan, bucking his hips, and Chris moaned desperately. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he wondered what it felt like for Chris, fucking Wesker like this. Uroboros was getting impatient, pressing in deeper and moving harder. Wesker threw his head back against the sheets as a third joined before he had even barely adjusted to the second. That was _Chris's_ impatience, he realized, _Chris's_ desperation. It was a good thing that his hands were restrained; he would have clawed up Chris's back had he been freed.

 

“Chris...!” he moaned, his voice faint and his eyes drifting shut. The tendrils were spreading him, opening him up, and Wesker found it strangely easy to give into it, letting Chris fuck him with Uroboros. Wesker had never given in this much, not to anyone – he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Chris.

 

Chris was molded down against him now, the two of them pressed so close that it was hard to tell which point they separated at. Wesker kept his legs tight around Chris's hips, keeping Chris in place where Wesker could feel every inch of him. Chris's skin was rougher, covered in coarse hairs, his hands callused and his lips chapped. Chris was running his hands all over him, as if unable to get enough. Every touch sent sensation shivering up Wesker's spine, and he arched, rubbing himself against Chris as they found a kind of rhythm. They rocked together like this, with Chris panting raggedly and Wesker making sounds that were suspiciously close to whimpers.

 

Uroboros moved deep, the pace steady but not slow. The tendrils alternated, seeking out every sensitive spot that Wesker had and exploiting them. At some point, he had lost track of exactly how much was inside of him. He moved back on every thrust, arching and writhing as Uroboros left no part of him untouched. There was one spot Chris found inside him which made Wesker cry out until his voice lost the strength, and now Uroboros brushed against it on every thrust. 

 

“There?” Chris asked in a strained groan. One rough hand had slipped under Wesker's arched back, pressing between his shoulder-blades to hold him close. “It's there – isn't it?” Wesker had no idea if Chris actually expected him to answer, because he did not have the air in his lungs to do so. Wesker's chest rose and fell sharply, his breaths uneven, and his legs were shaking as he rode back on him.

 

Wesker had never in his life felt overwhelmed, and that was the only way to describe what this was.

 

“Gonna come,” warned Chris quietly, kissing Wesker again. “Ah, I –“

 

Chris didn't even have the breath to finish, and wondering what he might have said would linger on Wesker's mind in his afterglow. Chris's entire body was lost to wild shudders. He bucked against Wesker, his hips jerking and his voice lost to deep, desperate moans. Wesker could feel come splash against his stomach, sticky and hot, and he felt a rush of depraved satisfaction in being stained – marked.

 

In the last shudders of his orgasm, Chris had slowed down, and Wesker made a moan of frustration. He bucked his hips, squirming against his restraints, and Chris caught on quickly. Uroboros moved over him and inside of him now; slithering tendrils curled over his hips, wrapping around his cock and stroking. The contact was frictionless, smooth and dizzying, and almost too much all at once.

 

Wesker tossed his head back, and Chris was still moving. He kissed a trail over his throat, callused fingers rubbing over his nipples, and he groaned in obvious pleasure; he didn't hide any of it now. Chris spoke his name, covered his face in kisses, and touched him so, so worshipfully.

 

“Want you to come,” Chris breathed, and that had been what done it. 

 

Wesker's body tightened up, and then he broke down almost violently. He had never cried out before like he did then. His limbs shook and his body thrashed underneath Chris. Orgasm rushed through him so powerfully it seemed to rob him of his own strength, his own come mixing with Chris's against his skin.

 

Wesker lost all sense of himself for that moment. He was aware that he had moaned Chris's name – shouted it, more like – and his body seized up. In that instant, his mind seemed beyond coherent thought, but he knew one thing: he had never felt so good.

 

He went limp under Chris, his body jerking in the aftershocks, and while Uroboros withdrew, Chris still embraced him: thick arms wrapped around him, holding him, and Chris was showing no sign of letting go. He smoothed out Wesker's hair, kissing down his shoulder, and Wesker couldn't even find the strength to move. He felt wasted, his body numb and drained – good. He sunk down, draping his limbs over Chris and letting his eyes flutter shut.

 

“Mine,” breathed Wesker unthinkingly, and this time Chris did not respond with anger. Instead, there was that same, soft, breathless laugh from before – barely there, but Wesker caught it.

 

“Yeah.”


	8. The Road Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: the road home.
> 
> Thanks coming this far, everyone.

When Chris woke up, he was still on top of Wesker. He didn't think that Wesker required sleep at all, much less to do it so deeply, but he didn't even stir when Chris sat up. Drawing away and cleaning himself up, Chris absently realized that he must have really worn Wesker out, and the idea was satisfying as well as a little sickening.

 

Chris's clothes were still damp, but he had managed worse situations. The rain had stopped by now, and if he went outside, the sun would dry them faster for him. It was that idea which carried his feet this far, but there was more to it than that. Chris's mind was buzzing and he needed to think; the fresh air would do him good. He stepped outside, just lingering in the doorway, and he saw the sun hanging up in a clear sky. It was beautiful today, peaceful – he never would have imagined that it rained the day before.

 

Breathing in a gulp of fresh air, then letting it out, Chris tried to empty his head. He felt like he needed to make a decision, but the truth was, he already had – he had already given Wesker too much. He still didn't know what this was, and he wasn't sure he ever would be able to define it. He kissed Wesker. He fucked Wesker. He let himself give in to Uroboros.

 

Glancing down at his arm, Chris called it out without much of a thought now. A tendril crept out from beneath his wrist and curled between his fingers, squeezing the way someone might hold hands – exposing his unconscious desire for reassurance. He might be permanently stuck like this; that was something he had to come to terms with.

 

Could he go home? Probably. Would it be a disaster? Definitely. Was he better off with Wesker? He didn't know.

 

Wesker admitted that he couldn't and wouldn't cure Chris, so he had no reason to stay. He could go and do whatever he wanted, try to find another source to repair him, but the chances of that were slim. The point was: there was nothing keeping him here anymore. Wesker had no solution, and he wasn't keeping Chris prisoner. He could leave if he chose it.

 

Sighing out heavily, Chris tilted his head back under the sun. The heat was soothing him, at least, if nothing else. It made him feel more human; unlike Wesker who was unnaturally cold to touch. Reptilian.

 

Wesker had called Chris his, and Chris had said yes, accepting the possessive claim. He wanted to blame lust and the rush of pleasure for making him stupid, but Wesker didn't force him – _Chris_ was the one who restrained _Wesker_. Chris hadn't been a victim; he had given in to him all on his own, but he was trapped with one incredibly insistent aggressor, so of course things were going to escalate. Wesker had decided that he wanted Chris long before this happened, so there was only so much Chris could do about it.

 

At least, that was the most obvious excuse for what he did, but it didn't quite fit, not with all that the two of them had done.

 

“Chris.”

 

Chris turned his head, finding Wesker standing in the open doorway. He wasn't wearing much at all: he had pulled his pants back on and that was it; the rest of him was bare – even his feet. Chris wasn't sure why that part seemed to attract his focus so much. There were so many more obvious things to focus on, like Wesker's chest or slender arms, but what Chris noticed above all was his feet.

 

That didn't sound very lustful – that sounded oddly domestic.

 

“You should come back inside,” said Wesker, sounding tired. He stepped into the sunlight cautiously, his eyes squinting against the brightness, and he must have missed his glasses. For the first time, Chris wondered if Wesker wore them for an actual reason of sensitivity, rather than to simply mask himself.

 

“Got cold, huh,” Chris guessed, and Wesker neither confirmed nor denied that assumption right away. He looked oddly reluctant to admit that bit of intimacy, that obvious _neediness_ and the idea that he had missed Chris too much to sleep.

 

“I did notice the chill, which woke me first, and then your absence kept me awake,” Wesker replied, sounding calm and analytical, but Chris knew better than that now.

 

It didn't escape Chris that their positions were now reversed, and he doubted Wesker missed it either. Wesker had been out in the rain, and now Chris was in the sun. One had entreated the other to come inside, and had been quite plainly ignored each time.

 

“I thought you might have left,” admitted Wesker. Chris imagined there was a hanging end of that: not just left, but left _me_. Chris might have been exaggerating that, but the tone betrayed him.

 

“I was thinking about it,” responded Chris honestly. He wasn't looking at Wesker now, taking in the scenery instead. He could hear Wesker moving closer, his bare feet making very little noise. “Don't know why I didn't.”

 

Wesker spoke so immediately, sounding so confident that it was startling.

 

“Because you love me.”

 

Chris laughed before he could help himself. He really didn't mean to, and it sounded incredibly mocking, but he couldn't take it back. He was still turned away from Wesker, but he could practically feel the red eyes digging into him.

 

“You kissed me,” Wesker reminded, and Chris could hear the insistence in his voice. “You slept with me.”

 

“That doesn't mean I love you,” responded Chris shortly, but Chris knew it also wasn't lust.

 

He didn't kiss Wesker out of physical need or desperation; it was always the emotion. When he saw Wesker out in the rain, looking weak and so unlike himself, something changed. When Wesker almost pleaded for Chris to look at him, and then nearly broken down Chris had touched him, it had been different. When he had Wesker underneath him, it wasn't blind desire that fueled him forward.

 

Chris knew he had been giving something that Wesker didn't fully understand. He didn't delude himself with the idea of fixing anything that had happened; Wesker's damage went deep, and he still didn't recognize most of those flaws in himself, nor intend to fix any of them. Chris didn't pity Wesker, but seeing him and knowing that he had learned things that no one else ever had or would, made a considerable impact. Chris had seen him vulnerable – made him vulnerable. Wesker gave him that and it was addictive.

 

Albert Wesker wasn't a God; he was just an incredibly sad human being.

 

Turning back towards him, Chris caught Wesker's gaze. His slitted eyes were narrow, their glow hard to detect in the bright light. Chris felt his chest constrict; he didn't like the way Wesker was looking at him. “What was it then?” Wesker asked.

 

Chris didn't have an answer. Lust covered most of the bases, but he didn't excuse everything. It didn't explain his concern when he saw Wesker out in the rain, the loneliness, the desperation he felt when he and Wesker moved together, or the way he agreed when Wesker claimed possession of him. Those were all something else, but Chris didn't want to name it.

 

“It's not love,” he reiterated, glancing back towards the sky. “That's for sure.”

 

There was silence for a moment, dragging heavily between them. It was suddenly broken when Wesker spoke again.

 

“I love you.”

 

Chris froze, his eyes widening as he whipped around to stare at Wesker. He was beyond speech for a moment, his mouth unable to form any coherent words. Chris gawked and he didn't want to believe what he had heard. Wesker was looking at him, utterly serene and composed, and Chris found himself in awe.

 

No. Wesker was not capable of things like that. Chris refused to believe that, especially after all he'd seen and learned. Chris had dug into a vulnerable spot of him, surely, but he hadn't solved that tainted core at all.

 

“You don't even know what that means!” he snapped, the harsh accusation slipping out unthinkingly, but it was the simple fact of things.

 

Wesker seemed untroubled by it. He looked at Chris evenly, his expression calm and relaxed. Some of his hair was still disheveled, his usual vanity forgotten for a moment, and it made him look so much more tangible – real. “I know it's true,” he said, his voice perfectly level and composed, “in my own definition of the word.”

 

His own definition. That could mean literally anything. Chris couldn't even think of how to respond to something so insane. He laughed again, shaking his head and holding up his hands in defeat. “How am I supposed to argue with that?” he asked.

 

Wesker didn't even hesitate. “Don't argue at all,” he suggested.

 

Wesker started moving close, and Chris immediately reacted: Uroboros broke out of him, and he was ready to attack, but Wesker made no violent motion. He wasn't even bothered by the gesture. He reached out without concern, laying his hand on the writhing mass of tendrils with surprising affection.

 

“I would tirelessly towards a cure, if that would convince you to stay.”

 

What? Chris stiffened up, his eyes narrowing. “But you said--”

 

“That it was impossible, and I believe it,” Wesker interrupted before Chris could even manage his protest. Wesker moved his hand, tendrils of Uroboros caressing his bare palm with utter gentleness. “However, if it would please you, I would continue to search regardless. Even if it is an utterly pointless endeavor, I would do that for you.” Wesker closed his eyes briefly, his exhale catching. “I cannot force you to stay.”

 

His shoulders sinking, Chris found himself at a loss. Wesker wasn't looking at him, his gaze focused on Uroboros, and Chris could see something fractured in his stare. Vulnerable. It was only the night before that he was insisting that Uroboros could not be cured; Wesker could only have decided to make this offer moments ago.

 

“I would make nations bow to you,” murmured Wesker, his voice sighing as he allowed his hand to be enveloped in curling tendrils, “if that was what you wanted.”

 

Chris scoffed. “Too bad it's not.”

 

Wesker made a small noise, one that was decidedly displeased; he was trying to figure out how to make Chris happy, and he obviously couldn't think of anything else to offer.

 

This was an act of desperation.

 

“You want me to stay that badly,” reiterated Chris, and Wesker nodded his head, his gaze still lowered. He did not look particularly ashamed as he did this; it seemed like he was honestly just too transfixed by Uroboros. Chris would not have been surprised, since Wesker was offering to destroy it, and he would never be able to get it back if he ever succeeded in his impossible task. His magnum opus would be left in ruin, all for Chris's happiness – that was the extent that Wesker was willing to go.

 

Chris didn't take that lightly.

 

Wesker stepped near to him, pressing so close that their lips brushed, and he repeated himself: speaking the words directly into his mouth. “I love you,” Wesker murmured, finally lifting his gaze to meet Chris's eyes. The sound of it got down into Chris's bones, shivering across his skin and causing his hands to clench. Wesker pressed his hands against Chris's chest, stroking over the damp material of his shirt. “Mine...”

 

That sounded more like Wesker.

 

Chris lifted his hands, curling his fingers into blond hair. He could feel Wesker's breathing hitch, their red eyes meeting, and he knew that this was different.

 

“I need to go home,” Chris told him, and he felt something in Wesker's body buckle. It was slight, but it was serious, like a thread had snapped inside of him. Wesker reacted like he had been denied, his eyes adopting a furious glow, but Chris wasn't finished yet.

 

Chris cupped Wesker's face, and he pressed their lips together. He started off slow, light, but Wesker's desperation quickly infected the kiss – likely since he was expecting this to be the last kiss that they shared. Chris accepted his tongue as Wesker pushed inside of his mouth, and his pace was still slow, deep, but there was a force behind it which was needy and demanding. Wesker sucked on Chris's tongue, gently bit his lower lip, and let out a moan that sounded wounded.

 

Wesker barely let Chris break it off, continuing to press forward with insistent nips or laps of his tongue every time he tried to draw back. Chris had to resort to using his hand, laying his fingers over Wesker's mouth to still him so he could finish speaking.

 

“I need to go home,” he repeated, causing Wesker to shudder with that same sick need.

 

“Chris,” Wesker began, his voice a low hiss, and Chris pressed his thumb against Wesker's mouth, silencing him before he could protest. He wasn't finished yet.

 

Their red eyes were locked, and Chris could feel Uroboros spreading over Wesker. It embraced him, kept him close, and Chris intended to do the same.

 

“Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This obviously isn't meant as a perfect, happy ending (Wesker is still a murdering terrorist ahaha--) nor something healthy in the slightest, but I was given the challenge to try to write this pairing being in love and I did my best. This was mostly an experiment and I hope those who read it enjoy it.
> 
> I really appreciate everyone who has been reading. Every comment I've received has been absolutely lovely and I appreciate that more than I can put to words. Thank you all very much.


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